


What Kind of Man (Loves Like This)

by soixantecroissants



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Year (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8299291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soixantecroissants/pseuds/soixantecroissants
Summary: A collection of Missing Year moments in which a thief carefully makes his way close to someone's heart and a Queen is more than flustered by it. Featuring a thief's little boy, Snow White and her sometimes-charming Prince, as well as a wild assortment of Merry Men. Rated T to M.





	1. Wallflower

**Author's Note:**

> A ball, a Queen and two thieves vying for a dance. Based on the prompt: Roland dancing with Regina.

She’s loitering by the banquet table, the Queen, with her back to the rest of the ballroom as if the sight of dancing and merriment is one that makes her terribly uncomfortable. The grapes on her plate remain untouched as she glares and glares at them, looking up only to say an occasional something when Snow White and her prince lean forward in turns to engage her in conversation.

This won’t do, Robin finds himself thinking; it’s absurd that the Queen, ornery and oft unapproachable as she is, should be made a wallflower on this night of celebrating their latest victory over the Wicked Witch—a victory that, as the Queen herself would be quick to point out, could never have come to pass without her knowledge of magic, or of the castle’s secret defense systems.

He’s wondering how best to come closer without frightening her off when he sees his son, dressed in a magnificent, tailored tunic and vest (the origins of which the boy has remained carefully mum about, only saying “It’s a secret!” every time he’s asked), cantering up to linger most charmingly at the Queen’s heel, and there Robin spies his opportunity.

She’s playfully straightening Roland’s mini-cravat when he reaches them, greeting her with a bow and a “Milady, if you would do me the honor of—”

“No,” she says.

Robin pauses. “No?” he repeats innocently, face gentling into a confused frown.

“In your dreams, thief,” she sniffs, already turning away from him and piling more fruit onto her plate, which has been mysteriously cleared of all its grapes.

“Oh, I would never,” he tells her seriously, with a hand to his heart as though she’s just gravely wounded it with her willingness to assume the worst and cast such unsavory aspersions on his character.

“So you would be so cold as to refuse my son in a dance, then?”

“I—what?”

“I thought I’d inquire on his behalf, as he is much too shy to ask you himself.”

Roland, with grapes pooching both cheeks outward, can attest to neither the truth nor the falsehood of such a statement, and Robin smiles pleasantly as Regina stares in open bafflement at them both.

“Of course I’ll dance with him,” she says in a rush, and if the evident relief in her tone stings a bit more than Robin would like it to, he doesn’t let it show.

“Swallow first,” he instructs Roland when the boy eagerly reaches for Regina’s outstretched hand, and his mouthful of grapes vanishes in record time before he’s skipping them toward all the merriment Regina had been so intent on avoiding.

She’s flushed prettily by the time the song has slowed to something more manageable, having clearly underestimated the stamina required of keeping up with this particular four-year-old boy.

“It’s Papa’s turn,” declares Roland, pulling the Queen out of the crowd and eyeing the platter of cheeses Robin had been working through while trying not to watch them too obviously.

“Oh,” and here Robin feigns a look of exaggerated reluctance, “that’s very thoughtful of you, Roland, but Her Majesty has already declined my offer, and we must respect her wishes.”

Roland looks expectantly up at Regina. She appears torn between letting the boy down and swallowing her pride in order to dance with a man that she can’t stand, and Robin feels an overwhelming amount of affection for this woman, who seems to detest him so plainly but can never say no to his son.

“A trade, then,” Robin offers magnanimously, holding out his plate of cheese in exchange for Regina’s hand, and she stands there, caught, helpless to resist as a mischievous boy hands her over to his equally mischievous father.


	2. Summer Loving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something short, sweet and scandalous.

The summer has not been kind on the castle.

Stairwells feel damp with mildew underfoot, and even the corridors smell faintly of sweat. The air is thick and heavy and hard to breathe in, and countless layers of clothing are shed to just shy of what would be considered indecent. The shades are drawn by day, re-opened to the skies once dusk has fallen again, and still the heat settles deep, tempers flaring along with the temperature.

The Queen, who might have normally relished such an invitation to wear even more daring necklines than usual, has developed a sudden, curious partiality for higher collars and fancy, draping scarves, covering skin that she had once flaunted.

There are those bold enough to question her choice in attire; Snow White in particular has no reservations about smiling bemusedly at the Queen’s elaborate jeweled chokers, and even Prince Charming, loosening his cravat to relieve his sweat-sheened forehead, asks over their midday meal how on earth she hasn’t melted yet.

All their inquiries are treated to a simple sneer, in addition to a scathing comment about how fashion never was intended to be a practical pursuit—though she would hardly expect any of them to understand such a sophisticated concept anyway.

It takes a great effort for Robin not to let his amusement show, a treasonous act she’d be sure to punish him for later should she catch him.

And it takes an overly inquisitive five-year-old boy, with the distinct advantage of being the only one allowed close enough, to unravel her scarves and expose the odd little bruises coloring the Queen’s skin from throat to collarbone.

Some of the marks travel fearlessly lower still, Robin knows, and she will make him pay for her mortification.

Turnabout is fair play, after all, and he’s entirely willing to let her have her wicked way with him (teeth in place of tongue this time, and hands all over, lower, lower— _gods, Regina_ but won’t this teach him to think twice before stealing breath and sight and dignity from her again—).

That the Queen should desire to make her claim on him known warms him, considerably more than any of the disapproving looks he’s sure to receive from the others for days to come.

But if she’s observed to go about her usual scowling business a bit more gingerly than before, walking with great delicacy and flushing prettily whenever she feels the touch of his gaze on her—well, Robin never did promise that a lowly thief such as he would ever be capable of keeping his hands to himself.


	3. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thunder echoes freely through her balcony, open to the earth, to forest (to home), and Robin wonders if perhaps her heart belongs there just as much as his own. [Clean](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7852960)-verse.

The rain slants sideways as he slips into her chambers, grateful for the reprieve in this last stretch of summer. The skies have made good on their promise that day, and gods only know the lands have grown parched for every last drop.

Regina had stayed up waiting for him, it seems, sprawled out in her riding clothes, a moment of peace settled over her face where it presses her hand to the pillow.

The winds are livelier here than the rest of the castle, without stone walls or shuttered windowpanes to mute their sound. The thunder echoes freely through her balcony, open to the earth, to forest (to home), and Robin wonders if perhaps her heart belongs there just as much as his own, as its deafening roar pulls her deeper into sleep.

Still, she stirs, despite his quiet attempts to remove her boots and better situate her beneath the covers. She blinks up at him, slowly, charming in her unsteadiness, and he knows he’s found her between dreams and something more; her smile is softer than he’s used to, though he’s caught as ever in the eye of her storm.

“Darling,” he murmurs in greeting as he joins her between silk sheets and the scent of rain on her skin, careful not to jostle the stillness of her. She hums a response, too tired for words just yet, but she answers in kind when he tangles their limbs and presses her close at the small of her back.

He kisses her, gentler than she’d like at the moment, judging from her tightening grip on his collar, the sharpening angle where her mouth meets his. The taste of her burns his insides, a fire no rain can contain, and the skies flash white hot when he pulls away a moment to loosen her hair with his fingertips.

The rumble soon follows, well-matched in his chest.

She reaches with lips and tongue for his pulse point, and it thrums to her touch.

He’s reaching—roaming—uncovering her shoulder, fumbling with the belt at her waist, when he vaguely discerns a distant knocking.

Then, through the hitch in her sighs, the interlude between each cloudburst, comes a hushed plea, a tentative, “Papa? Majesty?” muffled by the weight of a door.

Regina knows the sound of it too, pulling away with concern in her gaze.

“The storm,” Robin tells her, words rough from lending his voice to other, heavier things. Then, for he can’t assume she had raised her own boy according to the ways of the forest: “He’s accustomed to hearing it while he sleeps, and it…rather alarms him when he can’t.”

“Papa?” Roland wonders again, and Regina is gliding instantly from bed.

Robin takes the opportunity to compose himself, calmed by her faint padding of feet hastening to the door, its opening creak outdone by a happy greeting that’s warmly exchanged. He turns at the sudden, high-pitched eruption of laughter, and his boy beams at him from the level of Regina’s arms as they approach, his legs kicking delightedly at air.

“Papa,” cries Roland, leaping forward once Robin is near enough and scrambling to embrace him next. “Look!”

A knobbly knee jams into his stomach and his breath abruptly leaves him in a pained sort of wheeze. He offers Regina a rueful half-smile as she settles beside them, and hers dazzles in full, in return.

“Papa, you can see it!” states Roland in awe, pointing out Regina’s balcony, then patting himself atop the head, as though to ensure it’s still, somehow, miraculously dry.

“Didn’t I put you to bed ages ago?” Robin scolds mildly, but Roland only has ears for the thunder now, his eyes wide with the sight of darkness churned into life before him.

Robin’s sigh is steeped in some resigned form of amusement as he leans back into the pillows, hand seeking Regina’s and holding it fast to his lips. Her fingers dance along his jawline, and he’s looping an arm around to gather up the rest of her when the bed gives a tremendous bounce. Roland, appearing to have tired himself out, wedges his way between them, squirming for a proper place, and one gives way to him easily.

Regina slips from Robin’s grasp then, falling to thread through Roland’s curls instead. His boy scoots contentedly into her touch, the side he favors clearly showing.

But Robin can’t find any true cause to complain—he’s taught his son well, after all—and sleep soon drags his eyelids closed, while the winds carry onward, westbound with the storm.


	4. Unkempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time they’re nearly caught in the act, Robin hasn’t the faintest clue what hit him. Rated M.

The first time they’re nearly caught in the act, Robin hasn’t the faintest clue what hit him. One moment he has her back to the wall, and the next, he finds himself shoved there in her place. His arms embrace air now as he looks dazedly about, wondering if he’d just imagined the whole thing—the sound of her sighs when he’d nestled a thigh between hers, the sight of her glorious updo undone as the rest of her had come apart along with it.

It wouldn’t be the first time his mind had been struck dumb and run wild at the vision of her, but he can still feel the memory of her wet and writhing from his touch, the throaty vows she’d moaned in his ear as he had twisted a finger just so ( _you’d better finish what you started, thief, or I’ll—oh—Robin, I’ll—mmm_ —ohhh). And he knows that this time, it was most assuredly not a dream.

Then, not a second later, the footsteps that had sent Regina running bring Grumpy into view. He skulks by with a surly side eye and a silent appraisal of Robin, who’s looking oddly short of breath and with his tunic twisted sideways as he leans with a casual air against the wall. He scratches innocently at the back of his head and utters a sheepish “Hullo,” then, “don’t ask.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” replies the dwarf as he ambles carelessly onward, and as soon as he’s gone out of sight, Robin is off around the opposite corner in search of the nearest freshwater stream (the colder, the better).

The second time is a rather close call too. He’s still fully clothed, thank the gods for that, but Regina is rather magnificently the opposite, giving him free range to roam over bare skin, a tongue on one nipple and a palm to the other. Her spine arches delicately into his touch, fingers digging half-crescents into his hips as he angles them into her center, rolling. He luxuriates in the view as her dark eyes go half-lidded and her lips part in silent rapture at this feel his length, rigid and rubbing through rough layers of cotton. His mouth leaves her breast, begins to caress its way downward—

Until her whole body goes tense, and for reasons entirely unrelated to the kiss he’s about to press just above her slick, sensitive folds.

He likes to entertain the idea—later that night, when he tosses and turns in his sheets and the thought of her with him deprives him of sleep—that she had at least paused this time before poofing out of his arms. Before abandoning him to Tinker Bell’s highly unsettling stare when the fairy discovered him lying belly down on the floor of the stables, claiming he’d dropped his dagger somewhere, it had bounced off into one of the stalls but he couldn’t for the life of him work out which, and would she be so kind as to assist in his search?

“Oh,” she had said, “you mean the one in your boot?” When he’d only stared blankly at her, she’d pointed for clarity. “Right there. The one you’re wearing.”

He’d _ahh_ ed, _of course, how silly of me,_ then expressed his immeasurable gratitude before jumping back to his feet and wandering purposely off in the other direction. He was still half-hard, after all, and that was something he would very much like to avoid having to explain, if he could help it.

The third time that he’s almost caught with Regina (or the third time that she’s nearly caught with him, rather), he’s buried deep inside of her, hips rutting, teeth nipping at her collarbone as her fingers tighten in his hair, gasp after gasp tumbling out of her lips. She has no place to go now but up, up, up, into a cloud of ecstasy before she falls back down and shatters to pieces in his arms, and he climbs there with her, every exquisite clench of her walls round his cock has him soaring higher and higher and _gods, Regina you feel_ —the friction grips and draws him into oblivion, has him shuddering and groaning, his kisses hot and open-mouthed as they fall onto the hollow of her neck—

But someone is nearby and drawing closer still, Robin recognizes the confounded song that Prince Charming is whistling cheerfully to himself as he walks unknowingly into what is about to be a situation most awkward for him and Robin both.

He deposits one last kiss to bruise her skin and then gives a resigned sigh, waits for Regina to disappear on him all over again, leaving his body throbbing and his heart aching to know, just once, how it would feel if she stayed.

Her smile is almost tender as she drags her palms over his face, and then she’s pulling his forehead up to rest on her lips.

A cloud of smoke engulfs them both as she brings him with her, wherever she’s chosen to go, this time.

“Oh my God!” someone yelps.

Belle?

Reality comes crashing down along with rows upon rows of books, as Regina gives a squeak of horror, and Robin is knocked off balance. The aftershocks from this unfamiliar and altogether unexpected mode of travel have him fumbling for purchase in all the wrong places, sending trinkets flying off the shelves; and then, in his effort to keep hold of Regina—because now that she’s let him, he doubts he’ll ever let go—they’re falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Leather-bound tomes rain down on their bodies, and he folds her into his chest to block their path to her head.

“This—is—a— _library_!” they can hear Belle shouting, “for heaven’s sake!”, and she sounds ten kinds of mortified as the door swings to an indignant slam shut behind her.

But Robin finds that the act of getting caught is not nearly as traumatizing as the fear of it had been, and Regina’s shoulders are shaking with laughter as the books finally come to settle around them and she’s luring him in for a kiss once more.


	5. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin teaches Regina how to shoot a bow and arrow. A fight ensues. Rated M.

"You're holding it wrong."

Regina bristles instantly and drops the bow to her side, arrow clenched in her other white-knuckled hand. "I don't know why you insisted on me learning this anyway," she fumes. "It's not like I don't have magic to take out the next simian abomination that decides to attack us."

"Yes, and that worked out so well the first time," Snow comments drily, folding gloved arms across her chest as she leans back against a tree trunk.

Regina looks affronted. "That's because someone had the nerve to get in my way!"

"I believe that 'someone' was the one who saved you, your majesty," notes a third voice, paired with the quiet rustling of crisp autumn leaves that still cling to their branches. Snow and Regina turn to see Robin Hood emerging from a dense set of bramble, the sleeves of his tunic billowing gently as a breeze touches them before traveling onward, carrying his scent along with it. Regina angles her head sideways when the fresh maple and pinewood reach her nose, irritated beyond belief when something inside her stirs.

"You're going about it the wrong way," Robin is telling Snow mildly, who raises an eyebrow from her perch atop a gnarled tree root.

"Oh, is that right," she challenges teasingly, and Regina grinds her teeth together at the warm familiarity in her voice as she addresses this man who had been but a stranger to them both not long ago. Was still a stranger to her, in some ways.

A stranger with a lion tattoo.

Robin gives an "mmmm" of agreement, stealing soundlessly across the forest floor with remarkable ease. Regina tenses when he nears, freezes when he removes the arrow gently from her fist.

"The trick to mastering the skills of archery," he comments softly, depositing the arrow into the quiver slung across his back with one swift practiced motion, "is to be taught them hands-on. Here." Planting his boots firmly into the soft earth alongside hers, he tugs his gloves off with his teeth and closes a warm palm over the back of her hand, still gripping the bow that dangles at her side.

"Just like that," he murmurs, lifting their joined hands up to angle the bow straight in front of them. He brings his other arm around her from behind to coax her free fingers over the bowstring. Goosebumps prickle her skin; she tells herself it's the relentless breeze, the thin material of her muslin dress and the way it dips low into her (heaving) chest.

And yet despite the cold, a liquid warmth is settling within her body, flushing her cheeks and churning her stomach in a manner that is not entirely unpleasant. The memory of his lips on hers some weeks ago burns her now as though it had just happened yesterday; but the look on his face when she had told him off for it, one of resigned frustration, is just that, a memory. Because here he is again, in complete disregard for her personal space, when she’d more or less threatened his life the last time he’d done so. The man is patient with her in a way that befuddles her, is utterly unfazed by her every sneer, her every look of contempt or word of derision, and she can’t fathom it but for some reason, he keeps choosing to stay.

Robin is shifting the toe of his boots to correct her stance, widen it here, narrow it there, and as he trains a serious eye on the ground to examine his work, Regina lets her gaze travel openly across his profile, the furrow in his brow, the dense fog of his breath as it escapes through slightly parted lips.

"You wore your hair down again today," he says lowly then, as though he knows how closely she’s scrutinizing his every move, his everything, and wants her to know that she can’t escape the same treatment from him, even when he’s not looking.

Flustered, she would've dropped the bow to the ground if he didn't have his own firm grip on it. "What?" she asks distractedly, but he’s still adjusting her posture, nudging her knee into a slightly bent position now, and his eyes have yet to meet hers. The tree trunk where Snow had been standing, she notices suddenly, has long since been abandoned and the princess is nowhere to be seen, nor heard.

Regina wonders what must have gone through the woman’s mind, seeing the two of them together—knowing that they’d…shared a moment…once before, plus whatever other ridiculous notions Tinker Bell had probably managed to put into Snow’s head by now. She pictures those large brown doe eyes round with the elusive promise of second chances, rainbow kisses and unicorn stickers, the absurd woman leaving with a goofy grin and the thought that she’d been doing them both a tremendous favor.

The mere idea of it is enough for Regina to dig her heels into the ground and prepare to flee, but would it be so bad, a small part of her wonders, if maybe, just maybe, she stopped running long enough to find out what would happen if she stayed, too?

"Now," says Robin, straightening up at last and freeing her from her traitorous thoughts, "we'd best get on with it, lest the entire camp starves on our account."

"What?" she stutters again, and this time he turns the full brunt of his gaze on her, eyes blindingly blue and crinkled at the corners to match the smile that curves his lips. Regina meets it with her trademark scorn. "I'm not here to hunt."

"No?" he sounds amused. "Because I was under the impression that her majesty was not wanting in means of self-defense."

His hands have loosened their hold on the bow but his arms are still slung around her middle, his chest pressed to the shoulder she’s pivoted to better address him with her disdainful sneer. What she hadn’t anticipated was the breathtaking proximity of those vexing blue eyes as they capture hers in a disquieting stare, and then her gaze falls unbidden to his lips, twitching to hide a smirk of his own before they still, parting slightly—she draws her eyes back up to his but they are no longer on hers, they’ve dropped to her mouth instead, and how can one simple look rob her completely of the will to breathe—

She feels him inch closer, if that were even possible, his hand trading its slackened grip over the bow to clasp firmly over her hip instead, and then she feels her body drawing closer, whether by his suggestion or of her own volition, she’s not entirely sure—her eyelids flutter as his warm breath washes over her face, and then his nose is brushing against hers, his stubble scratching over smooth skin—

A loud screech overhead pierces through the haze that has settled deep into her mind, and it clears instantly at the sound of trouble. She’s shoved Robin off within a second, flames erupting from her open palm, but in that time he’s already freed an arrow from his quiver and armed his bow with it, training it directly at the flying monkey that soars above. The beast angles its wings down into a nosedive, heading straight for her, and she can hear the thrum of Robin’s bowstring as he pulls it taut.

“I can handle this,” she snaps at him. “I don’t need a knight in shining armor.”

“Fortunately for you, then,” Robin responds without removing his gaze from the nearing target, “I am no knight.”

But Regina can take care of herself—has done so for years, doesn’t need his help, doesn’t want to need his help—she’s by his side in an instant, grabbing his forearm, and a searing pain, white-hot, darts through her hand, and he must feel it too, as he lets out a yell. She draws back, startled, as the tip of the arrow strung through his bow bursts into flame. Stares in wonder as Robin pulls his sleeve up to his elbow. The skin around the lion is red, angry, inflamed.

“What—“ he starts, but then his eyes widen with fear and he’s shouting her name, lunging forward to grab her, remove her from harm’s way but he’s too late, furry hands enclose around her shoulders, claws digging into her flesh as they lift her up toward the treetops.

“No!” Robin yells, and the flaming arrow hits its mark, square in the monkey’s eye. A horrible cry fills the air and the beast’s claws retract, slicing through her arms one last time for good measure before she plummets to the forest ground.

He’s there to catch her when she does.

“Regina?” a voice is shouting. Snow. “Regina! Robin! I heard screaming. Are you all right?” She bursts out of the trees, gasps when she sees them there, and the monkey up above them, as it scrambles blindly away, shrieking, head aflame.

“You’re hurt!” Snow says suddenly, advancing forward.

“I’m fine,” Regina insists, but her entire body objects when she tries to move it and she stumbles, wincing, palms bloody as she draws them back from her shoulders. Without a word (though she gives him plenty), Robin gathers her back into his arms like a ragdoll, and then she’s too dizzy to protest much more, save for a few grumbles into his chest, which he ignores. Snow picks up the discarded bow and together, they make their way back to camp.

…

By the time they’ve made it to her tent (Snow leaves them at the opening with a promise to return with warm water and clean bandages, and then again once she’s deemed her wounds properly dressed), Regina has realized that Robin has not uttered a single word, that the tension lining his body is not just from worry, but from rage. And the look of her huddled in her makeshift bed—a pile of worn-looking blankets gathered to her front, with her back bare save for the bandages wrapped around her shoulders and upper arms (the ruins of her dress plopped on the ground mere feet away)—has only seemed to worsen it.

He’s stalking back and forth in the grass, long since flattened by weeks’ worth of her own obsessive pacing, and she’s about to break the silence when he finally demands, his voice dangerously low, “What were you thinking?”

“How do you mean?” she asks defensively. “Like I said, I had it all under contr—“

“You were a bloody fool!” he shouts.

Regina’s too shocked to be offended. Her mouth drops open, not sure how to respond, but luckily he doesn’t give her the chance to anyway.

“Never—“ he thunders, coming forward, “do that—“ and he crouches down in front of her, hands reaching out to grab her arms before thinking better of it and cupping her face between them instead, “to me—“ he draws a ragged a breath, “again.” His eyes are wild. Recognizably blue and bright, but wild. “Do you understand me?” he asks her, slowly, as though she’d suffered brain damage in addition to having the flesh torn from her shoulders.

“Why do you even care?” she rasps out finally. “I’m horrible to you. Why do you stay?”

“Why do I—“ somehow the question only enrages him further, and he drags a palm over his mouth.

She shrugs helplessly, grimacing when her shoulders protest.

“Honestly, Regina,” and he tilts her chin up to meet his eyes, nothing but warm now, as he sighs, “you’re still a bloody fool.”

“What,” she starts, but he silences her again, this time with his lips pressed to hers. She muffles out a gasp into his mouth and he slides his tongue against hers in response, deepening the kiss. His hands have returned to cradling her face, gentle thumbs caressing her cheeks even as his mouth moves fiercely over hers, hungry, desperate. She reaches up to curl a palm around his forearm and that same scorching sensation that had seared his tattoo and set his arrow on fire returns now, but in place of the unbearable pain, it feels like the blessed burning relief of ice on scalded skin, and she shivers, inhaling sharply.

“Have I hurt you?” Robin pulls away, gasping, but she shakes her head _no_ —quite the opposite, actually. He reaches out to stop her when she makes to unwrap the bandages around her shoulders, but she gives him a quelling look and he pauses, watches cautiously as she bares the skin beneath.

It’s completely healed.

“Gods,” he utters, as she turns her attention to his sleeve, rolling it up to reveal the lion, blemish-free. Her fingers tremble as they trace the shield where the skin had been singed and tender not an hour before.

“You healed me,” she says, dumbfounded.

“No, milady,” he disagrees. “We healed each other.”

She stiffens, terror lacing through her blood as her heart pumps it furiously to every limb of her body, poisoning them, poising them, to run. _Leave. Before he does._

But he’s holding her again, less gingerly this time, and she feels herself relaxing into his embrace despite her best efforts at convincing herself to leave it. “Now, before you go running off again,” he murmurs, pressing his nose to her forehead, ghosting a kiss over her fluttering eyelashes, “let me have this. Please. I need to know you’re safe with me, if only for a moment.”

And his words make her feel warm, so warm. Shaking, she runs her palms up his abdomen to rest against his chest, and she feels his shoulders sag, as though he’s resigned himself to the fact that she’s about to push him away. But she fists his shirt into her hands instead, tugging until the buttons give way and his skin is exposed to her touch, her mouth, and then her tongue as she leans forward, the heat that travels up her spine and into her brain clouding her vision and her judgment. Robin groans as her lips close over a nipple, his fingers tangling in her hair, pausing a moment to shudder again before tilting her face up toward him. She licks her lips, anticipating his kiss, but then he dips down into her neck, dragging his tongue along her collarbone and then up to her earlobe, biting there.

Regina swallows back a moan as he leaves a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses across her sensitized skin, her fingers clenching, nails digging into his back. She drags herself up to sit on her knees and the blankets covering her front get caught between their bodies, until Robin lets out a grunt and tosses them aside, hands roaming freely, unapologetically, over every aching part of her he can reach. Warm palms close over her breasts, nipples rolling between his fingers, and in answer her own hands slide down his backside and into his trousers, giving his buttocks a firm squeeze. She feels his breathless chuckle against her neck more than she hears it, and then he’s snaking one arm around her waist and dragging her flush against his body, his erection pressing through the cotton of his pants and into her belly.

With one hand still pulsing over her breast, the other drags up her back to the nape of her neck, tugging at her hair and angling her head sideways as his lips slant over hers in a heady kiss, tongues fighting for dominance. She pulls at the waist of his pants until they’re pooled at his knees, freeing his erection to the greedy caress of her hand as she strokes him up and down; can’t help but smile when a gasp gets caught in his throat.

His arms readjust to palm her buttocks, lifting her right off the ground. Regina lets out a startled sound, hands flying around his neck and legs around his waist, and then a shameless moan as his rigid, hard length rubs against her center, already slick with the desire that’s pooling down low there. With one hand on her back, Robin maneuvers her to the ground, nestling himself into the juncture of her thighs, kissing her all the while, and when she wriggles impatiently the sound he makes is somewhere between desire and exasperation. He manages to get out her name before her hand closes around him again, and his eyes shudder closed in surrender as she pumps him up and down and trails the tip of him against her folds, teasing.

She shouldn’t be doing this, she thinks, this is literally the last thing she should be doing, but the silent ecstasy etched into his face, the warmth that’s always in his eyes whenever he opens them to look at her, as though she is a thing that actually matters, a thing that he would risk his own safety to protect—and then the way his lips graze gently over her shoulders where they’d been bleeding moments before, because she’d been foolish while he’d only been trying to protect her—

“Wait,” he struggles out, and her hand stills over him, “I need to—I need to feel the rest of you—“

And it’s that need, the need for her that he so openly admits to, the same need she feels for him that she will never willingly admit, even to herself, which has her surging forward, and him sinking deep into her, his hardness filling her entirely, arching her back in rapturous bliss.

“Robin,” she breathes, and she can’t remember the last time she called him by his name, if ever, but the sound of it falling from her lips does things to him, rolls his hips, pulls him out then back in with a shuddering groan, heightens the delicious friction of him sliding against her at a slow, sensual pace as they continue to explore the contours of each other’s bodies, their mouths, with roaming hands, greedy tongues. The breeze outside grows chillier as dusk settles but the air inside her tent is steamy, dizzyingly so, filled with the sounds of skin on skin that glistens with the sheen of their lovemaking.

His kisses become sloppier, more frantic, punctuated with pauses so they can both catch their breath as he moves in and out of her, a forearm braced by the side of her head (hands tangled in her hair), his other hand splayed along her thigh, spreading her open farther to the force of his thrusts. Her back digs into the ground with every movement, but the pain she’ll feel there in the morning is worth the pleasure now, the intoxicating feel of his hard, strong body pressed to her belly, her breasts, the sharp lines of his hips angling deep between her legs as he moves within her, the moans that fall from his lips, the gasps that escape from hers, mingling with the headiness of their kisses.

A prickling sensation starts at the base of her spine as he rocks his hips harder into hers, and she’s bending at the elbow, reaching a hand up to brace herself with his forearm, when a shock of ecstasy arches her back into the air. Her lips pull away from his as she cries out, fingers scrabbling over his back, his arm where his tattoo is inked into his skin, and he pushes into her once more, then again, until he lets out a strangled groan and collapses over her shaking body.

This was a mistake, she knows it, she never should’ve let him get this close, but she’ll let him have this moment, for now, this moment where he thinks he can keep her safe. When he’s the one, she’s realizing more and more, who has the greatest power to hurt her.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispers, fingers splayed lazily over her breast, drawing goosebumps from her skin.

She smiles ironically. Heaven? In the arms of the Evil Queen? “Just goes to show how little you know me.”

The fondness in his voice softens his retort. “I may know you better than you like to think.”

And the warmth that spreads like wildfire through her body and beneath her skin is difficult to ignore, but she quenches it before long, before it’s had a chance to reach her heart and thaw the hardness that lies within it.

“Right,” she scoffs, before she finally kicks him out of her tent.

(But, as it turns out, he _is_ right after all.)


	6. (Shimmer) Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against all odds, including an irate Queen with a secret resentment for balls, a certain thief finally gets to have this dance. Sequel to [_Wallflower_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8299291/chapters/19008124).

Her gown was indigo blue, almost black when approached from a certain angle, depthless and dark as the lakes that surrounded her castle at night. The bodice was understated, its neckline borderline modest, her curves feeling soft instead of making their usual spectacle. The skirts fell, sweeping, to just grace the floor, so finely threaded with diamonds that Regina glittered blindingly at every turn, shards of starlight piercing through treetops to touch the water below.

She’d found it buried beneath years’ worth of other delicate, sparkling things, _girlish_ things that no longer belonged to the woman she’d grown to be over time. It was hardly her first choice for a ball; in fact, if she’d had any choice in the matter at all, she would have never been caught dead in such a thing. As it was, she blamed Snow White for barging into her private quarters when she did, forcing Regina’s hand if only to avoid being asked yet _again_ what was taking so long to get ready.

In her impatience to avoid Snow’s badgering, she hadn’t done much else to ready herself, scowling at her mirror only briefly in passing to see how wrong she looked, how _young_ , without her boldly lined eyes and red-painted lips.

She’d even left her hair loose, gathered partially up in a way that made her feel half-undone already, before she stepped into the ballroom and felt her gaze moving against her will to land, most unerringly, on his.

Regina blamed her dress for the thief’s staring, installing herself by the buffet table with her back turned for all the good it would do either of them. She occupied her hands as best as she could with plates of fruit she left untouched, managing a tight little smile or two whenever Snow and Charming made their stubborn attempts to be friendly with her.

She was more than exposed, here in this room full of too many memories (of kings, and parties, and other reasons for feeling unwelcome), trying to breathe through an absurdly well-fitting gown while everyone laughed so easily around her. In retrospect, she should have expected the thief to come to her at her most vulnerable, shamelessly using his son to disarm her further so that he might secure a dance for himself.

Twirling around with the boy had proven simple enough, and Regina let her steps fall innocently out of time with the music – as far as she could tell, anyway – while Roland spun them madly about to the tune of his very own song, as only a child could get away with doing. She even caught herself smiling at one point when Roland tried to dip her (something “Papa taught me,” as he proudly declared), though, as always, it was a short-lived thing.

Clearly not wishing to hog her all night (who knew a thief could have raised such a gentleman, Regina thought with a bracing sigh), Roland marched her right up to his father once the music began to slow down, demanding an even exchange for the plate of snacks Robin held in his hand.

Wishing desperately that Snow weren’t just within earshot, Regina did her best not to glower while the intolerable man badly feigned his surprise, as if this hadn’t been his plan all along. Relinquishing his cheese with a highly apologetic expression, the thief reached for her hand while she stood there, glaring, painfully unable to move away from him quickly enough.

“I don’t dance,” she said, stiff, in a last ditch attempt to deter him, very aware of Snow’s head tilting conspicuously sideways at her. Of course, it would not have occurred to the Princess until now that, no, her stepmother never had been one to dance at the balls Father threw growing up. Perhaps the Queen had seen such activities as beneath her.

Perhaps she’d never been asked.

Perhaps she’d never been in a place to learn how.

It burned her that the truth might come out this way, in front of these people she’d spent half a life tearing down, and she felt herself turning to stone when Charming bent to murmur something into Snow’s ear, the two of them sharing a knowing look in that insufferable way they so liked to do.

But Robin seemed to have willfully misinterpreted Regina’s meaning, sighing in a reluctant manner – as if this had been every bit her ridiculous idea and not his – before saying to her, “I can’t say I’m fond of dancing myself, Your Majesty, but my boy has fairly insisted, so…” He shrugged, as though to add, _What can you do?_ while his eyes crinkled at her, and she did not resist this time when he took her hand into his.

Turning his back to the crowd, he led her to a remote-looking edge of the dance floor, somehow untouched by all the whirling fervor around them, and then he carefully placed himself between her and the Charmings as if to shield Regina from view.

“That being said,” he continued, leaning into her with a tone of conspiracy, “it would be in everyone’s best interest if we did not stray from this corner. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not subject anyone else to the hazards of my dancing.”

He’d set himself up perfectly for her ridicule, but Regina was too taken aback to mock him as he might have expected. She did not miss the ease with which he positioned their bodies together, one palm sliding to rest at the small of her back, the other closing gentle fingers around her own and lifting their arms at purposeful, well-practiced angles.

Unsure what it was she was supposed to be doing with her other hand, she let it hang to the side of her gown until Robin caught on to her helplessness, setting it gingerly onto his shoulder before placing his arm back around her waist.

Regina watched him, unblinking, as he inclined his head to her in a makeshift bow.

“On the count of three,” he told her cheerfully, but then he stepped forward on _two_ , their knees colliding with such force that it startled an _oh!_ out of her.

“I thought you’d agreed not to get in my way?” she broke in with more exasperation than she felt, trying hard not to notice whether Snow was still watching them or not.

“Apologies,” said Robin, his hand already bracing her back with a deliberate sort of anticipation that she was sure she hadn’t imagined. “It’s been some time since I’ve done this properly.” As if to further prove his point, he tread over her hemline then, and she nearly tripped into him with another sound of protest. “Dancing was never a strong suit of mine, I’m afraid, and it appears very little has changed in that regard.”

He looked at her meaningfully, as though waiting for her to agree, but she found she could do no more than stare at him, scrutinizing. Who, exactly, was he trying fool here? Outlawed though he may be, here in this ballroom he was no longer Robin Hood but this _Robin of Locksley_ , bred as a noble from his manners down to the way that he moved, despite his attempts to mask it with clumsiness.

Even now, there was an element of grace to his bumbling, a carefulness to how he only upset her balance just so, and his arms never wavered, holding her steady as he spun them around in small, cautious circles. He did not let her falter, and whenever she nearly misstepped he was there to swallow the motion with another blunder of his own, begging forgiveness for his dreadful inability to keep time with the music.

And for a moment Regina felt impossibly young again, hatefully wary of any audience their dancing might have welcomed, wondering that they couldn’t see where the Queen ended and the miller’s granddaughter began. But on another twirl (a warm flash of blue as Robin lifted his arm, a sea bluer still as she spun into him), she caught sight of Snow and Charming – their attentions now turned toward Little John, who was bowing theatrically to an amused-looking Ruby – and something like relief shoved Regina’s breath out in a sigh.

True to his word, Robin did not let them wander beyond their edge of the ballroom, swaying her gently from side to side while all the color and commotion of the party flew by. Even the music sounded distant from here, as though a curtain had dropped between them and the rest of the world, and her shoulders gradually lost some of their rigidness, her eyes drifting more and more his way before glancing quickly off to one side.

He was a good several inches taller than she was used to him being – the heels Snow had picked out for her were fairly tame by Regina’s standards – and his lips fell dangerously into focus, his eyes blue and bright and strikingly open when she made the mistake of looking up at him again.

She cleared her throat, angling away until her gaze settled much more comfortably on a spot near his shoulder. He was dressed in his usual huntsman’s attire, greens and browns in every shade of the forest, and she could swear she smelled the stables on him, that heady richness of soft, worn leather, the faint scent of hay and the freedom of being outdoors.

He was close enough now for her to feel the heat of him on her skin, stray wisps of hair stirring by her temple each time that he exhaled. He was close – too close, she told herself firmly – but it was an increasingly difficult thing to care much about, and more than once she caught herself leaning forward, lashes heavy, to breathe it all in another time.

Robin must have sensed her softening, and he began to coax her into a more discernible rhythm, a slow but steady _one-two-three_ , _one-two-three_ that seemed manageable enough as long as he didn’t try anything more ambitious than that with her. It felt almost natural, somehow, taking these steps with this man she only knew how to despise on most days, when all he’d ever wanted was for her to dance with him.

(Perhaps he’d always been the one meant to ask her.)

(And perhaps someday she might learn to admit it.)

“I think we’re making a decent go of it so far, don’t you?” Robin remarked, and before Regina could half-register what he was doing, he had bent her backward in a daring little dip. After one heart-lurching pause, he pulled her up to land flush with his body, her palm pushing into his chest on instinct to prevent the rest of her from falling any further into him. Her breath left her again momentarily, and everything swam, suddenly dizzying, when he reached to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen over her shoulder.

“I’d been wanting to try that,” he murmured, hand lingering by her cheek before dropping away.

“Your son was very enthusiastic about it himself.” Her voice was impressively even, considering how winded she still felt.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I suppose.”

She glanced sharply upward to find him smiling at her, nothing but kindness in his gaze as he secured his arm completely around her waist this time, drawing her somehow even closer, his smile growing all the while.

“What?” she scowled, which only seemed to encourage him more.

Robin shrugged a shoulder, his smile tipping sideways now into something distinctly troublesome, and she felt herself bracing for some kind of impact. “I thought you’d be…” He bit into his bottom lip, considering her with those mischievous eyes before settling at last on a teasing, “…pricklier.”

Regina shot him a withering look. “And I thought you’d be dirtier.”

She felt a chuckle resonating throughout his chest.

“I couldn’t very well stand to be shown up by my own son, now could I?” Robin wanted to know, pulling slightly back to regard her in a rather somber manner. “Not when there’s a Queen’s heart to be won.”

She never quite knew how to handle him whenever he was like this with her, and she was grateful for the excuse to look away when the boy in question chose that moment to whoosh past them, laughing delightedly as a half-crouched Leroy _grrr_ ed and _argh_ ed in close pursuit behind him.

“Papa, keep Her Majesty safe!” shouted Roland, brandishing a sliced baguette the way one might a sword. “I’ll lead the monster away!” The cravat Regina had fashioned for him earlier was now coming undone, one end poking out of the gold vest she’d borrowed from her father’s collection and magically shrunk to fit Roland’s frame. As Leroy advanced on him with another dramatic growl, the boy reached to tug the silk fabric from around his neck, swinging it up and about as though he intended to lasso Leroy with it.

The tables had clearly turned with this new development, and Leroy, comically wild-eyed, let out a good-natured yell before running off in the other direction, Roland charging after him this time.

“I got the monster! I got it, I got it!” he crowed, triumphant, careening by with his bread and cravat, and Regina was mildly distressed to see that somewhere in the midst of his adventuring the boy had also gotten creative with the spinach puffs, their cheesy green insides smeared all over the front of his tunic and vest like some kind of camouflage.

“Curious,” said Robin into her ear, “who might have trusted a four-year-old not to keep his dinner off those very expensive-looking clothes.”

Regina was too distracted to reply to him at first, her more motherly impulses rearing up and threatening to do a little chasing herself with a washrag in hand, until she noticed how carefully Robin was looking at her.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” he asked, innocent.

She thinned her lips together, denying immediately, “Not in the slightest, no.”

“Well,” he mused, after a beat, “it would seem Roland’s mysterious benefactor is determined that I should be the one to lose in this battle for your affections.”

“To be fair, he did save me from that monster,” Regina pointed out, craning around to monitor his progress. Roland had now doubled back to the buffet table to arm himself, gleefully pelting Leroy with various weapons in the form of blueberries and pomegranate seeds. The grapefruit he selected next was so large he had to lob it into the air with both hands, and when it dropped with a dull thud only halfway to his target, Leroy helpfully bent to nudge it back in Roland’s direction before throwing his arms out to shield himself again.

(Regina thought of other timely rescues made on her behalf – of buried hearts and flying monkeys, and an arrow hitting its mark – and she wondered if Roland hadn’t picked that up from his father, too.)

“Ah,” said Robin, sounding warm as they watched his son sneak a grape before grabbing up handfuls to renew his attack on Leroy. “In that case, I have some grave competition indeed.”

They’d stopped their slow spinning in favor of witnessing the drama unfold, and Regina became acutely aware of how intimately they’d positioned themselves, fingers entwined instead of touching politely together, her other hand curled around the edge of his vest. She could feel each breath he took with every inch of her body, it seemed, pressed into his as though they’d always been meant to fit this way, and it was absurd how much she wanted to look up at him in that moment.

“What do you think?” Robin continued, everything twinkling, his voice full of light. “Would I be half as appealing a dance partner as my son if I knew how to dress the part as well?”

“I’m sure you couldn’t handle it.”

And truthfully, she _couldn’t_ picture Robin that way, in the same apparel that men like Charming considered to be second nature to them, all that brocade and those stiff, gilded lines that reminded Regina too well of her old ballroom days.

Robin might have been of noble birth, but he didn’t belong to this place any more than she did, try though she should have to keep refusing this (his warmth, his heart, his everything so gentle with her), and the knowledge of it made her long to be reckless all of a sudden.

“I think you’re probably right about that,” he sighed, tickling the hair by her forehead again, and she heard the sharpness in her breath when he shifted over her, stubble just grazing her skin.

“Though I suppose Roland must have gotten his charms from _some_ where,” Regina allowed, and Robin’s chest rumbled with laughter again, his palm spreading heat along her spine as he tightened his hold, leaving her slightly lightheaded for how weightless he’d made her.

She could practically taste the forest on him this close, and it would be wrong, she thought, to have it – have _him_ – any other way than like this, loose-collared with the lines of his throat bared and unshaven, all of him smelling like sunlight and pine.

“So you do know how to smile,” Robin observed, dimples creasing his features when she stared up at him, caught, and a flush settled over her cheeks that she had not felt in a long, long time.

“I wouldn’t get used to it,” she told him, meant as a warning, though she was having trouble recalling her usual ire with him.

“No, of course not,” he agreed, so easily – so tenderly – it was all she could do not to smile in bafflement again.

They were standing entirely still by now, the music reaching some final crescendo as it probably had several times over already. Regina was wondering just how many dances he’d managed to steal from her when Robin dipped his head downward, biting a lip before his expression turned rueful, almost shy, of all things. “Would you care for another, milady?”

“Maybe one more,” she heard herself say, and Robin, smiling, laced their fingers more firmly together, tugging her back to sway into him in their own private corner of sea and forest and starlight.


	7. Crumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is cake and maybe, just maybe, the promise of a little something more. Bonus Ruby POV. Based on the three word prompt: red, cake, rain.

Regina was sitting alone when Ruby found her, everyone else having formed a celebratory clump by the fire as far away from the Queen as they could without being too obvious about it.

The outdoor location had been Regina’s idea. In fact, to Ruby’s knowledge, Regina had arranged everything from the quaint little clearing to the twinkle lights adorning the trees. The cake had been the one exception, after Snow had fairly insisted that she would “make sure it gets taken care of.”

Even so, the other partygoers had given Regina a very wide berth, acknowledging her with little more than a half-guarded look here and there as they mingled around and enjoyed the refreshments Regina had prepared.

Ruby supposed she couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t like Regina usually made much of an effort to be even barely tolerable company. She was more than loud in her opinions on the “forest filth” she’d let into her castle, and she definitely didn’t pull her punches wherever the leader of said “filth” was concerned.

But for all her scowling sourness, Regina was not as subtle as she probably liked to think she was about some things. Ruby had caught her trying to hide an actual smile while Roland begged for a piggyback ride from his papa, to get a better look at all the “lighting bugs” he’d just found in the trees.

The smile was an accident, of course, and Regina must have decided to spend the rest of the evening making up for the oversight by glowering into the distance even more fiercely than usual, which was exactly what she was doing when Ruby came up to her.

“Hey, girl.”

Ruby plunked down on one end of the log without waiting for a response, a generous slice of red velvet held out in offering. “Here. For you.”

Regina stared it down as though it might be something sinister in disguise, finally addressing Ruby with a stiff, “Excuse me?”

“It’s just cake, Regina. It won’t bite.” Ruby paused. Smirked. “Unless Roland’s dad put something in there that I don’t know about.”

“The thief made this?” Regina’s gaze was still very carefully trained on the cake. As if Ruby hadn’t noticed the way her voice suddenly sounded two shades lighter – younger – at the mere mention of Robin.

“With some help from yours truly,” Ruby smiled. “Poor guy was hopelessly lost in that kitchen without me.”

She waited for some salty remark about how Snow had outsourced the one job she had to a wolf and a criminal, and when it didn’t come she glanced over to find that Regina’s gaze had strayed predictably toward the other side of the campfire, where Robin had just deposited his kid on the log across from theirs.

“Hold still a moment,” Robin was saying kindly when Roland attempted to lunge at the modest pile of gifts that had accumulated there.

Granny had fashioned Roland a party hat out of magnolia leaves, pinning a single flower at the tip in the absence of streamers. It sat adorably lopsided atop his curly head, and Robin leaned to adjust the silk ribbon ties beneath Roland’s chin before endeavoring to remove a smear of frosting at the corner of his mouth – as best as he was able, anyway, what with Roland’s insistence on spinning around to beam at everything in sight.

“Anyway,” said Ruby, as Regina seemed to realize she’d been staring and resumed her scowling at the plate of red velvet, “he wanted you to have a piece.”

The look Regina gave her was plainly dubious. “He did.”

“Just take the damn cake, Regina,” Ruby said calmly, and Regina glared at her a final time before letting Ruby press the plate into her hands.

Roland was just digging into his presents, and it was another several moments of watching his progress before Regina noticed the fork Ruby had patiently dangled in front of her. She took it without a word, poking one edge of the cake and frowning thoughtfully at it while Ruby smiled into her beer.

They sat in semi-companionable silence for a while as Roland chattered exuberantly over a pair of brown leather boots; a child-friendly bow (with a quiver full of tiny plungers in place of arrow tips); a special kit of instruments for observing the stars.

“How about we open this one next,” suggested Robin when the kid looked momentarily staggered by all his new possessions. The box Robin held out to him was much smaller in comparison, about half the size of Roland’s palm, resembling one of those little toy chests at the bottom of a fish tank.

Regina had just stabbed at her cake with an unprecedented level of determination, chewing intensely as Roland took the trinket box and turned the miniature key in its lock.

A click and then a hissing _whoosh_ , like the air being let out of a balloon, burst through the opening with such force that Roland’s curls flew upward, his party hat getting knocked askew again.

The unexpected noise had caught the attention of several others nearby, and Leroy let out a drunken, blustering “This reeks of Wicked Witch!” that had Regina narrowing her eyes at her cake again.

The escaped air traveled about a foot and a half above Roland’s hand before it began to churn and fog up, forming dark puffs of grey and emitting faint sparks that zigzagged down to zap at the inside of the box.

Roland gasped.

Leroy had wedged himself in front of the other dwarves, looking red-faced and ready to fight something.

“That does look kinda…” _Dangerous_ , was what Ruby had been about to say, somewhat concerned that anyone thought this would qualify as an appropriate toy for a child. She stole another glance at Regina.

Robin, however, seemed to feel otherwise, chuckling when the tiny clouds began to rumble with the promise of rain and Roland looked up at him with a delighted expression.

A shoot of something green suddenly poked a leafy branch outside of the box, and then another and another, sprouting up so energetically that the box trembled and nearly catapulted off of Roland’s outstretched hand.

In a few seconds’ time, an entire miniature replica of the Enchanted Forest, complete with its very own turbulent sky, seemed to have emerged from inside the chest, stems and roots and bits of soil spilling over the sides while the clouds thundered and shook out more droplets of rain.

The whole thing gave the impression of being very precariously balanced, like an elephant attempting to stand on a thimble, but it sat snugly in Roland’s palm without so much as a wobble, bending fluidly this way and that to offset the weight each time he tilted it sideways.

A moon slipped in and out of the roiling storm. The treetops sparkled with tiny blinking lights, not at all unlike the ones towering over them now. Somewhere within the mini forest’s half-lit shadows, a little wolf howled.

“Nice touch,” Ruby said casually.

“It’s _home_ ,” said Roland, awestruck.

Robin’s eyes flicked toward Regina, who was still resolutely eating her cake as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Can I take it with us, Papa?” Roland requested in an urgent whisper, as though he were scared what might come of it if he didn’t. His voice dropped even further, in a way to suggest that he knew he’d just asked something really quite scandalous. “Can I take it _inside_?”

“I don’t see why not, If Her Majesty doesn’t mind us dragging a bit of dirt around her castle,” said Robin, managing a perfectly straight face.

“Doubt it,” Ruby hummed under her breath, with a sly glance in Regina’s direction. The woman’s jaw ticked slightly before she primly forked up another bite of cake.

Ruby smirked.

“I don’t think she will mind having dirt,” Roland was saying confidently, gazing up at his storm clouds with a look of affection. “Right, Papa?”

“She’s let _us_ stay with her this long, hasn’t she?” Robin smiled. “Besides…” He cleared his throat, his gaze never leaving his son’s as his voice carried openly across the campfire. “I think she’d be pleased to know how much better the storm sounds will help you sleep.”

Regina had run out of cake, but she resolutely scraped up the leftover frosting, letting the fork linger in her mouth while appearing to look very interested in something near the ground.

Robin was also looking studiously elsewhere, offering a very impressed-sounding “Yes, I see that!” when Roland pointed out various features of the forest to him. “Why don’t you show that bit to Uncle John as well?”

John, who had been passing to refill his drink, gamely detoured over to their log, discarding his mug and hoisting Roland up in the air. “Blimey – you’re one year heavier already, did you know that?”

“Am not!” Roland squirmed playfully around in protest, gasping when he accidentally tipped his treasure chest forward and the clouds splashed rainwater all over John’s face.

Robin was smiling to himself while he arranged the remaining gifts back into a pile, his gaze wandering a little more freely toward Regina now as she shifted around on the log, looking distinctly unsettled.

“Well, that’s my cue,” said Ruby cheerfully, standing with a leisurely stretch, and she felt Regina go rigid beside her, fork making an audible clatter against her plate.

“Where are you going?” Regina demanded abruptly, glaring up at Ruby like she’d just betrayed her somehow.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Ruby winked, biting back a grin as she saw Robin rise from his seat and clap a hand over John’s shoulder.

Regina made a half-outraged, half-incredulous sound, eyes darting from Robin back down to the plate of red cake crumbs like she’d just been caught red-handed with them.

Robin was watching Regina openly now, his expression soft, his smile going slightly crooked when she glanced back up and seemed unable to look away from him either.

Ruby took a small, slinking step back as Robin strode forward.

Regina froze, half-holding her plate like something that might shield herself from imminent contact.

“Get it, girl,” said Ruby encouragingly, and it was probably a lucky break that Regina didn’t appear to have heard her.

Poor thing looked uncertain enough as it was, watching Robin like she might be braced to take flight or to meet him halfway, and Ruby was not about to be the one who ruined this by saying the wrong thing.

Regina would have to learn not to do that all on her own.

Ruby casually edged her way around the campfire, tactfully averting her gaze when Robin passed by – anything else felt almost nosy now, when he was looking as soft as he did just from looking at Regina.

Of course, Ruby didn’t let that stop her from sneaking another peek once she’d reached the opposite end of the camp, angling herself just enough to overhear Robin hazard a “May I?” that was followed by a very stiff and prolonged silence.

But Regina didn’t appear to have made any particularly aggressive attempt to dissuade him (atta girl, thought Ruby with something like pride), because then Robin was settling down in the spot Ruby had just left, making himself comfortable while Regina eyed him with a wary sort of fascination.

He gestured to the cake crumbs in her lap, making a remark that Ruby couldn’t quite hear, and his entire face crinkled with a smile when Regina glanced away, looking startled but not entirely displeased with him.

John, who was being much more obvious in his eavesdropping, had wandered over to Ruby’s side to gape across the campfire at them with a suspenseful expression. “I give ‘em five minutes, tops, before he says something that makes her get all fussy again.”

Between John’s speculating and the sounds of Roland’s rainstorm swaying just beside her ear, Ruby gave up hope of hearing anything else – which was probably for the best, she conceded with a wistful sigh.

Still, she couldn’t help another sly look in their direction, peering past Roland’s treasure box forest to see Regina stealing her own furtive glance at Robin. He was gazing casually down at his hands, loosely clasped together, elbows leaning onto his knees in a relaxed sort of slouch. Regina had turned away again by the time he looked back up, and he ducked his head down to fight another smile.

Regina was straight-backed and square-shouldered, hands folded delicately around her plate with its scattering of crumbs. She looked for all the world as though she might have been sitting back on her throne in the castle instead, as opposed to some log at a child’s party in the middle of the woods.

But then Robin spoke again – something teasing, no doubt – and Regina blinked, some of that rigidness in her giving way to a pretty flush that she couldn’t possibly hide this time, and he bit a lip to know how flustered he’d just made her.

“What exactly did you put in that cake?” John wondered, half-impressed, half-alarmed.

Feeling just the tiniest bit smug, Ruby shifted her attention to Roland. “So, whatcha got there, kiddo?” she addressed him with a tilt of her chin, and he twisted happily around to show her, emptying another cloudful of rain onto John as he went.

“Regina made it for me!” grinned Roland while John mopped at his soggy beard. “Papa said he wanted to say ‘thank you’ before she tried to go away.”

John made a violent coughing sound.

“But I hope she doesn’t,” Roland continued, cradling his box and giving the plants a loving pat.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” asked Ruby, with a wink in John’s direction.

“Because then Papa smiles more,” said Roland, as a flowering vine curled fondly around his pointer finger.

If Ruby and John were unprepared for that answer, it was nothing compared to the sound of a laugh that suddenly broke through the air across camp, lively and full and entirely unrestrained in its amusement.

Robin was rubbing a palm over his chin, grinning into his hand while a pink-cheeked Regina gazed determinedly in the other direction. She reached up to brush at a lock of hair by her forehead, every inch of her poised and elegant as ever, but Ruby could swear she saw the flash of a smile show through before Regina was pressing her lips back together.

Neither Regina nor Robin seemed willing to break this shy, easy silence between them, but then they both glanced back at each other in the same moment, and looking away seemed impossible again.

He smiled a lopsided smile.

Her shoulders had lost their obstinate edges, the corners of her mouth growing soft as they gazed at one another, a cautious sort of wonder holding them both in place.

“Okay, time for us to stop staring now,” Ruby sing-songed to John under her breath in a hurry. With a great deal of reluctance, he let Ruby swivel him and Roland around just as Robin was angling sideways, reaching for the plate of crumbs in Regina’s hand.

“See, I told you,” said Roland, craning around to peer over John’s shoulder. “Papa’s doing it again.”

Smirking, Ruby sauntered off to help herself to another piece of cake.


	8. Off Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For OQ Prompt Party, based on the prompt: it's cold and OQ share a blanket.

 

It was a brisker-than-usual night for late autumn, but the sky was alight with twinkling stars and the grounds he patrolled rather peaceful, so Robin completed a third leisurely turn around the castle before deciding it time to give his little black shadow a piece of his mind.

He paused by a rose bush, looking casually off to one side as he remarked aloud, “You know it’s not safe, for you to be out here like this.”

There was a rustle of leaves – and of thorns, he thought with chagrin; of course she would fail to consider these risks, despite this more vulnerable form she had taken – and then a tiny black paw slipped out from the bramble, followed by a pair of large and beautiful eyes that were not nearly as chastened as he’d like them to be.

Regina padded over to him with an imperious sort of meow, spine at a delicate arch as she rubbed herself languidly over the length of his boot. Robin scowled half-heartedly down at her for several seconds before conceding with a sigh, telling himself that it had grown colder and he couldn’t very well have her freeze for the sake of being stern with her.

He bent to scoop her into his arms, and his sigh was one of mild exasperation this time when she yowled out a disgruntled sound, as if this hadn’t been what she’d wanted from him all along.

“Well I can’t have you wandering off to get snatched up by another of those winged beasts,” he murmured, scratching beneath her outstretched chin, and he nudged the tip of his nose into her neck before ghosting a kiss over the fur there.

She touched her own nose under his jaw in return, a cold press of wetness that startled a laugh out of him.

“Though don’t think for a moment you’ve been pardoned for following me out here,” Robin continued, trying for firm, but he felt this resolve weaken further as she curled and settled all of her warmth into his chest. A contented thrum of sensation stole through him, though whether from her purring or his own satisfied _hmm_ was difficult to say.

“I’m perfectly capable of keeping watch on my own, as you’re well aware by now.” He resumed his walking, cradling her closer to him as a bone-chilling gust threw back his cloak, the ends of it tangling and slowing his steps. “I’m sure I needn’t remind you which of us has habitually required more rescuing than the other.”

He rather enjoyed having these moments with her, when he could rile her up as he pleased and she could do no more than glare that useless glare, wordless and withering and really quite irresistible to him.

He gave her a lopsided smile, and she looked disdainfully away from him.

They’d rounded another corner of the castle now, and for all the moon’s glowing the air was starting to thin out and bite, sharp little nips of his skin wherever the warmth of his clothes and Regina couldn’t quite reach. He shifted her weight into the crook of one arm, freeing the other to retrieve one billowing end of his cloak. He draped it over her as best he could, until little more than her nose and the tips of her ears poked out.

She blinked those large, watchful eyes at him, and he felt her front paws kneading into the bend of his elbow, her purring audible over the wind now.

He bent to nose a kiss to her forehead, his beard catching against her fur as he slid another kiss to that spot she liked behind her ear.

“You know I can’t allow this again.” His words were a low, sobering rumble. “We’ve discussed this, you and I”—at least, he’d made his views clear on the matter while she had ignored him as usual—“and it’s unwise to make yourself so easy a target. Not after dark like this.”

Regina was not even bothering to look at him, her eyes trained entirely elsewhere as though he hadn’t spoken at all, but her ears gave a slight twitch as he dropped his shoulders on a slow exhale, saying heavily, “If anything were to happen to you…”

She seemed to bristle at that, moving around in his embrace with obvious signs of displeasure. He was torn between scolding her more and holding her tighter when the soft, swishing crackle of some unsettled leaves sent her shooting up straight in his arms, everything in her suddenly alert.

Her front paws repositioned themselves on top of his shoulder, a light dig of claws as though ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. Her tail swiped itself free from his cloak, thumping an agitated rhythm against his chest as she eyed and eyed their surroundings.

He craned around for a glance himself. “Regina, it’s all right.” But she edged her face brusquely forward, inching along until her ear just brushed past the back of his head, and he was left with the distinct and unsettling impression that she actually thought she would place herself between him and whatever threatening thing could be out there.

Robin thought of her prowling behind him in secret, all those turns around corners in this wide, open space after dark; keeping a lookout, watching his back with so little regard for her own safety, as he would have done in a heartbeat for her.

She _mrrow_ ed unhappily, still brooding over the source of that earlier sound.

“It was only some little critter,” Robin soothed her, running a palm down and down her back until he felt her start to soften. Seconds later, she jerked again as a small and furry something darted its way past Robin’s feet, sending up another smattering of leaves before burrowing into some shadowy brush up ahead.

Regina appeared reasonably mollified, but still she kept a wary eye behind them for several more minutes, her head pointing this way and that with each new call that the wind made to them.

“Come here, my darling.” Robin adjusted his hold on her, reaching up to brace her back with his forearm. She bumped her head against his ear, rubbing a bit of warmth into it before letting him coax her back down, filling his arms again with a faint but steady hum.

They’d nearly completed another turn of the castle; by his estimation, they had one more yet before John was scheduled to take the next watch, and Robin wondered how futile it would be attempting to persuade her home early.

He mentioned after a beat, “I know you worry after me.”

She only blinked at him.

“But you have to understand that this is not a one-sided matter.” He ducked beneath a cluster of branches, letting his gaze drift elsewhere if only to give her some space to stare at him openly. “You act as though you’re the only one with someone you care about here, Regina.”

She’d ceased her purring, ears pricked to attention.

“And so, respectfully – Your Majesty,” he added, not without a slight, teasing curve of his lips as he looked down at her again, “I’m going to request that you either return home once we’ve made it back to the gates, or…” he nuzzled a kiss to her forehead (to her credit, she did not take a swat at him like he’d been half-expecting), “you can transform back into a human, and _then_ be off to bed with you.”

Her eyes narrowed.

He shrugged, and reasoned, “If you resumed your human form, I could at the very least kiss you properly before you go.”

The problem with being a cat, of course, was that it rather limited her on the things she could say, except with those expressive eyes – currently glaring most impressively at him – or, every once in a painful while, those claws that needled punishingly into his arms as they were doing now.

Robin only wrapped his cloak more firmly around them, taking care not to jostle her much as he crouched his way past another low-hanging tree.

They’d reached a stately group of towering firs, neatly lined into rows to signify their return to the front gates of her castle, when Regina seemed to make her decision.

He’d only ever witnessed the change twice: once as an unforeseen outcome of tossing her into the bath with him, and the second when she’d come to him glum-eyed and penitent for some way she’d slighted him in front of his men at breakfast one day. She’d curled into a ball on his chest, the quiet hum of each other’s warmth lulling them both into a deep slumber, only for them to wake in the morning with the Queen naked and nothing short of mortified lying on top of him…

Right.

And thus Robin realized too late what he had just proposed to her.

There was a cracking sound, as though the very air itself was about to split open around them, and then the purple smoke unfurled from the rifts that her magic had made, spiraling tendrils around the bundled fur in his arms.

He dropped his hands from the sudden loss of her weight as it stretched and re-settled along the length of his body instead, the unmistakable feel of soft curves and softer hair filling his arms and his senses, until the purple smoke cleared to leave Regina standing in all her naked glory before him.

She gave a little start as her bare toes touched the ground, pressing herself up against him with a muttering protest of “It’s cold” that had Robin’s arms reaching around her, tucking the ends of his cloak against either side of her body.

“I supose I shouldn’t be the one complaining right now,” he said with some resignation, frowning to feel her shiver into him.

“No,” agreed Regina, her voice heavy and low in her throat. Her arms wrapped around his middle, drawing their bodies closer together. He couldn’t imagine it a terribly enjoyable thing, his belt straps pushing into her belly and all the bronze fastenings that lined his vest creating small pockets of chill to nip at her skin. His leathers were stiff and sturdy, every bit the opposite of the soft, supple materials she was so used to, and he rather disliked the idea that he should be so well-armored when she was wearing quite literally nothing at all.

“It behooves me to say this,” he told her, “but could you please put on some clothes?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Well that’s a first.”

He scowled at her, refusing to be swayed as she wriggled closer to him. “Regina…”

“Mmmmm?” She nosed a kiss to his jawline and then worked her way down, spreading warmth over his neck in slow, spine-tingling increments. “Are you offering to come inside and help?”

“That’s – no, that’s not exactly what I—” Robin made a displeased sound, fingers tightening instinctively into her hips when she stretched herself up to the very tips of her toes with another warm, open-mouthed kiss.

“Are you sure about that?” Her voice had taken on that rough, teasing quality she so enjoyed using on him, and bloody hell but this woman did not play fair.

He gave a thick swallow, feeling her smile with the motion, and he told himself it was to brace her better, nothing more, when he slid a gloved hand up the small of her back.

She startled slightly to the touch – of course, he berated himself, that can’t have been pleasant against her bare skin – and he murmured his apologies, stilling his hand and thinking a bit wistfully of all these extraneous layers between them.

“We really ought to get you back inside.”

“Let’s go then.”

She moved ever so slightly, a light shimmying motion that had the sides of his cloak shifting traitorously downward, just enough for her shoulders to slip through.

Robin leveled her with a look, fully intended to convey his vexation with her, but the effect of it was fairly ruined by the sight of her leaned back in his arms – eyes darkly alluring, her face framed in those silken black waves, with his cloak draped loose and inviting around swaths of bare skin and collarbone.

“You are utterly incorrigible. I hope you know that.”

Regina blinked, a heavy sweep of her lashes at him. “Thank you.”

He heaved out a sigh, gathering her back against his chest. She did not resist him, humming quietly when he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “John should be here momentarily. _Not_ …” he pulled slightly back, just in case she was in doubt of how stern he was being with her, “…that this is me encouraging you to make a habit of getting your way.”

To his surprise, that triumphant edge to her smile fell away, and she glanced down for a moment. Robin felt her hands fidgeting with the trim of his vest, running up and down his sides before settling back over his rib cage. He dropped another kiss to her brow, letting his mouth linger there as she told him, “I’m not going to stop, you know.”

Robin sighed again, resigned this time as he pressed the bridge of his nose to her temple. “I understand.” He felt her relax into him, and he simply held her for a moment, breathing her in while the wind caught and swayed their bodies together. “But don’t think I will either.”

Regina did not look particularly thrilled by this, but she didn’t fight him on it as she usually liked to do, and he supposed he would take his victories wherever he could.

He eased his mouth over hers, kissing her slowly, taking his time to tell her in other ways the truth of how he felt. Her palms slid up to rest over his torso, her whole body arching into his until he’d nearly lifted her off of the ground entirely. He felt the warmth of her everywhere, her tongue against his, the seductive weight of her breasts where they pressed into his chest. Her lips were chilled but heating with ease to his touch, a contented little sound stealing out of her, and he ached to chase away the cold however else he could.

“So,” she breathed when they parted, her face alight with a smile of pure mischief as though she knew where his thoughts had just taken him. “Did you want to go back and dress me or not?”


	9. Transparent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Regina is not so subtle as she likes to believe that she is around Robin. For Laura (based on her three word prompt: daughter, opaque, genuine).

It’s been yet another long, intolerable day, from the sweltering heat of a mid-August summer to those oppressively kind looks from the Charmings, and to that thief with the twinkling eyes, who’d had the gall to look knowing when she’d excused herself from council earlier with growing complaints of a headache.

The other castle inhabitants have made themselves scarce to avoid the afternoon onslaught of sun, the passageways empty and calm while Regina finds herself wandering. Apart from a dwarf whose name she’d never bothered to learn (he freezes mid-step when she sweeps him by, as though hoping she won’t notice him there if he’s able to stand still just enough), not a single other soul is in sight.

It’s exactly how she likes it, this distance from things, this space for her moods to catch fire without anyone else interfering. She feels her pace slow with the freedom, letting that ever-there ache in her chest draw knives to sharpen its edges. It digs deeper and deeper, rooting itself down until she hardly knows how to feel anything else, and it’s almost comforting how familiar it is.

She hasn’t been aware of walking with any particular destination in mind, but she’s hardly surprised when her footsteps take her to a small stone archway, opening onto a shadowed sort of terrace. It’s rather plainly kept, its only source of color a sparse scattering of shrubbery growing off in one corner. The paving is unfinished, unlike the pearly marbles and granites customary to every other courtyard in this castle. Thick walls damp with moss rise up on three sides, boxing the area in such that it sees little to no natural light during the day.

It’s by no means a beautiful place to behold, its northern view of the Enchanted Forest hardly one to speak about either, but it’s quiet here, secluded, and no one will ever think to look for her here: not her mother, during those years Regina spent playing unhappy bride to the King, and not even Snow now, whom Regina has caught lurking from time to time by her apple tree, ready to ambush her with yet another heart-to-heart.

Here, perhaps she can finally find a little semblance of peace for a while.

The moment she steps into that cool shade, the pressure behind her eyes abates just a little, and she breathes out a sigh that might be relief, closing her eyes for long seconds. A gentle breeze finds her, stirring stray ends of her hair where they’ve clung to a light sheen on her back, and yes, she thinks, this will do quite nicely for now. It’s easy here. It’s quiet. It’s…

_Thwack!_

Her eyes fly open.

It had come from some unclear amount of distance away, and she holds herself still, waiting to place it. More seconds pass without another sound, and she’s half-inclined to brush it off when there’s a second whacking thud, and then a decisive _crack!_ like wood that’s being split in two.

Against her better judgment not to care, Regina edges forward to the balcony ledge, peering down to the grounds below.

And there, leaning over some logs piled high against a wall of the castle, is Robin. Shirtless. And most certainly unaware that he’s being watched.

Regina blinks down at him several times before deciding that she’s not seeing things – it’s the heat, she thinks, the heat that’s getting to her head and making everything blur at the edges – and then she’s left to figure out what, exactly, she’s supposed to do with all…this. Him. Bare from the waist up, with the sunlight glinting off of his skin, glistening with sweat and tensing in all the right places as he reaches for another log.

He sets it upright onto a flat block of stone before bending back down for his waterskin. He unscrews the top one-handed and tilts his head back, coaxing out the last little trickle of water into his mouth with a grimace.

The sensible thing would be to head back indoors – the sun is doing him no favors, bearing down on him with all its midday might, he’ll roast out here if he’s at it much longer – and so Regina is not terribly shocked when Robin simply hefts up his axe, takes aim, and swings.

She glares at him a while longer, as if she could penetrate his thick, stubborn skull with her secret outrage alone. Through her glowering, however, she does vaguely recall an earlier comment of Granny’s that the kitchens have been running low on wood, and of course this thief with his incorrigible honor would take it upon himself without a thought for the consequences.

Feeling more than irritated with him at the moment, Regina descends in a purple smoking _whoosh_ , landing her some feet ahead of him with a scowl and a rather blistering temper.

He’s hacking his blade into a particularly resistant piece of log, an intense look of focus pulling his forehead in at the middle, and she supposes she should count her blessings that he doesn’t realize she’s there right away; she would have been mortified to have him catch her staring.

Looking at him from the front, as it turns out, is even more disconcerting than it had been from the back, the well-toned expanse of him on full display, sunkissed and strong and _what on earth has gotten into you, Regina?_

She tears her gaze away, aiming it haughtily off to one side instead, and locks her hands together in the perfect picture of poised detachment while waiting for him to finish his task.

She can sense the moment he finally sees her, his movements stilling, and he lowers his axe, landing it with a soft thump in the grass.

“Regina.”

She makes a noncommittal noise in return, still gazing away from him with an air of terrible boredom.

“To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of Your Majesty’s company?” His voice rasps slightly from all the exertion, shoulders looking heavy as they rise and fall and rise again. He wipes the back of his hand over the sheen of sweat that’s collected on his brow. There’s a brief flash of black, a lion dancing into her vision, and then it’s turning out of sight as he repositions his hand, shielding it over his eyes instead. He squints into the sunlight at her, though it does nothing to dull all that twinkling blue.

She means to disparage him, to make some remark about how the pleasure is frankly all his, that she could think of a thousand other ways she’d rather be spending her time. Instead, what comes out is a touchy-sounding, “You really should drink something.”

His breath is coming out in short panting exhales now, and she dislikes how his shoulders and arms have started to redden. Honestly; isn’t this man supposed to know better?

Robin’s gesturing to his hollowed-out waterskin where it lies on the ground, cheerfully stating the obvious that he’s a bit short on supply at the moment. His eyes crinkle at her, as though her concern is amusing to him, and it grates on her to know that declaring how little she cares – because she doesn’t, not in the least – would only make him smile harder.

She pivots a heel, with an imperious sniff for good measure, and stalks toward a bench in the shade. Primly seating herself at the very edge, she waves a hand at the empty seat next to her, and a tray appears with a pitcher and glass. She makes another motion, fingertips pulling at air, and a miniature cloud begins to form above the open pitcher, gathering wispily like a cotton candy spool. She touches a finger to it, and with a little crackling jolt the cloud begins to rain, droplets building into a steady downpour until the pitcher is more than halfway filled.

Regina turns back to Robin, arching a brow expectantly at him.

He’s gazing at her with an expression she’s never seen on him before, his smile fading into something solemn and strange. She thinks perhaps it’s the display of her magic that’s spooked him, but no, that doesn’t explain the softness to his eyes, or the way that her heart suddenly bounds up against her chest as he approaches her with that indescribable look on his face.

She tries not to notice the way his arms, his back – his everything, really, but again, it’s not like she’s noticed – lengthen and flex in long, powerful lines as he sits down beside her. He’s a good half a head taller than she is, something she’s prone to forgetting whenever they’ve gone toe-to-toe with her in her heels and her towering rage. But here, now, she’s more than aware of how small she must look in comparison, how easily he could gather her up if he chooses, how well his arms might fit all around her until she feels nothing but weightless and warm with the sun shining down on her face, and—

Regina blinks, confused about this dark, foreign place where her mind has just tried to take her.

The cloud has squeezed out its last bit of rain, and she busies herself with the pitcher for a moment, filling a glass while carefully avoiding his gaze. She can feel it all over, searching for something, reading her as he’s always done, but this up close without their usual hostility between them, it bears all the heat of a caress, and it takes everything she has not to lean further into it.

He nods his thanks when she hands him his water, and then she’s very much not paying any attention at all to the heavy swallow he takes, the quiet groan of his satisfaction as he sets the glass down for a moment. In fact, she’s put such an effort into this not noticing of things that she truly doesn’t hear him right away, his murmur of “Regina?” eventually registering in a tone that tells her it’s not the first time he’s said it.

And then she makes the mistake of looking at him.

Time seems to stretch on and on, suddenly meaningless as they stare across scant inches of space at one another. His skin is still dewy, small specks of water now clinging to his stubbled chin (her hand twitches to brush them away, a traitorous little instinct that she’d rather not dwell on right now). A bead of sweat has trickled from his temple down the side of his neck, and as he licks his lips she finds herself wondering how salty he tastes.

She feels flushed all over, his gaze pooling heat to everything that it touches, and when it drops to linger over her mouth, her breath hitches in a way that it hasn’t for a long, long time.

He leans forward, lips parting ever so slightly.

And then he flicks his eyes down, reaching for the pitcher of water to refill his glass.

Regina clears her throat and glances away. “You were saying?”

Robin takes his time, soaking down another third of his glass before he responds. “Thank you, for this.” He speaks lowly, on some deeper level of sound that she feels its rumblings inside her own chest. “Though I swear it was not my intention to have my Queen serve me for a change.”

There’s no mockery in it, none of the teasing amusement she’s so used to hearing from him – only an earnestness that she cannot bear to look in the eye, not when he’s gazing at her the way that he is. Like nothing else matters. Like he’s drinking her in while he can, while she’s forgotten not to smile around him.

“Well,” she says, as haughtily as she can manage, “I can’t be bothered with people trying to collapse from heat stroke and expect me to pick up after them.”

“No, certainly not,” Robin agrees, nodding very seriously at her. “I would hate to think of anyone inconveniencing you in that way.”

“Quite.”

He seems to be biting back a smile. “And they say chivalry is dead.” She almost rolls her eyes at him, but then he’s glancing sideways at her, gaze softening again. “Is your head feeling any better?”

“It’s manageable.” She’s not conscious of touching a lock of hair by her temple until she notices Robin’s eyes following the motion, and then her hand hovers there a moment, uncertain, before brushing it back behind her ear. He seems to go carefully motionless at that, a strained sort of stllness as though he would have preferred to reach over and do it himself.

He nudges the tray toward her. “You ought to drink something as well.”

She conjures up another glass without argument, pouring some water to keep from looking at him and wondering what all this could mean. He seems content not to press her for anything further than that, stretching back with a pleased little sound in his throat as he leans his weight into one hand on the bench and gazes out toward the forest with an easy, untroubled expression.

Regina can feel the heat radiating off of him still, heat and a light that might blind her every time the sun touches his chest just like that, his arms, those hands, and surely this is a dangerous thing, she thinks, that he could warm her this way without even moving.

She takes a sip of her water, firmly looking down her nose at some vague spot on the ground.

Robin shifts next to her, his breathing full and deep in a way that makes his whole body seem to lengthen with the movement, relaxing into the bench as though he might like to stay this way forever, here by her side with the sun all around them.

Her back has grown stiff from holding everything straight, but if any part of her loosens, she wonders, then where would it end? What would stop her from letting this moment mean something, or believing that it could possibly last, when she is all darkness and he is all…this?

He sets his glass back down on the tray, a tinkling clink filling the silence between them. “I’d best get back to it,” he says, not without a hint of ruefulness as his eyes crinkle into another smile at her. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint Lady Lucas by returning to her empty-handed.”

Regina watches him stand and make his way over to the unfinished pile of logs, swinging his arms out in a stretch behind him before retrieving his axe from the ground. She frowns at the back of his shoulders as he stops for a moment, working out a bit of soreness in them. “You know I can do that with magic.”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Robin throws back without missing a beat, something winking in his tone. He takes his time repositioning the log on his chopping block, a ripple of movement down his back as he bends and straightens again in the sun.

She blinks through the light at him, not comprehending. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that I’d hate to stop now,” he tells her, teasingly somber as he hoists his axe and another dazzling shift of muscle courses across his bare skin. “Considering how much Your Majesty’s been enjoying the view.”

Regina freezes, caught, but he only adjusts his hold on the axe before taking a studious swing. He spares not a glance her way as he sets the freshly split firewood aside, reaching for another log. She finds herself wavering at the very edge of the bench for a moment, her water glass still poised halfway to her lips as she battles the urge to take flight. But then Robin is stretching his back out again, swiping another bit of sweat from his brow, and he might very well work himself straight into the ground – smiling all the damn while at that – if nobody’s here to see that he doesn’t.

Settling delicately back into her seat, Regina raises the glass to her lips, sipping slowly with her gaze trained not-quite-elsewhere as Robin pauses mid-motion. His head cocks to the side, too knowing as always, with a sly flash of dimples that she doesn’t notice at all before he’s turned back to his task once more.

Not in the slightest, indeed.


	10. Liquid State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For OQ Prompt Party, based on the prompt: Drunk Regina accidentally admits something really embarrassing.

It was the first winter solstice that John could recall being able to spend indoors – and not just any old set of doors, but that of a palace, with royalty and common folk scattered alike across benches and toasting each other to the start of the season. The wine was mulled to perfection, and there was an undeniable warmth to the room that had to do with more than just liquor-soaked bellies and hearths that roared at every corner.

Even the Queen had graced them all with her presence, seating herself at the very edge of a table with Roland as her buffer against the rest of the world. They spent most of supper in their own little bubble of things – the boy making awed faces as plates sprouted legs and walked themselves over to serve him more sweets – until at last Robin approached them, breaking the news that bedtime awaited.

He and the Queen exchanged very polite smiles before he escorted Roland back to their room, and then, shocking John even further, she elected to stay for a drink. She clinked glasses with Friar Tuck across the table while John tried his absolute best not to stare, wondering what on earth might have put her in such a sociable mood.

As the days leading up to this night had gotten progressively shorter, John had expected the Queen's temper to do much the same. Winters in the Enchanted Forest were enough to bring out anyone's half-murderous side, and John had certainly not taken the Queen to be an exception. Yet here she was, her cheeks beginning to flush a faint pink as Tuck refilled glass after glass for them, actually laughing aloud when he poured the last drop and squinted into the pitcher with an imploring expression.

"Allow me," she said grandly, waving a hand over the top, and he rushed to fill up at least seven more glasses to keep the wine from overflowing.

The Queen couldn't even manage a convincing scowl for Robin upon his return, gesturing in a dramatic  _If you must_  sort of fashion at the seat that Roland had previously occupied.

"Your Majesty," Robin greeted her in a cordial tone, even giving a small bow of his head as he sat down beside her, and John's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

Never, in all their time in the castle, had he witnessed them behaving this civilly around one another, and if it weren't for the wine that someone just pressed into his hand, distracting him for a moment, he thought he might be very, very worried.

"You're sitting on my skirt, thief," the Queen announced in a loud voice, and Robin offered his immediate apologies, shifting over while she made a show of rearranging her garments and scooting away from him. Straightening with another flourish, she graciously accepted another glass from Tuck, taking delicate sips while Robin cheerfully reached for his own.

"It's unseasonably good weather we've been having," said Robin after a beat, though not to anyone in particular that John could tell, "for the—" he cleared his throat "—the, uh. The season."

"Yes, quite warm," agreed the Queen, again in that strangely loud voice, as if she couldn't be sure the rest of the table had heard her. She took another determined sip of her wine, gazing at the table with an expression that John might have normally assumed to be one of boredom.

Come to think of it, though, she did look a bit more rosy-cheeked than before, John's eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to piece all the bits of their odd behavior together. And where Robin might have customarily turned one of those smirks on her by now – the kind that made John fear for his friend's safety – he was instead appearing just as intrigued by his glass as she was by hers, something about the wine more delicious than usual to both of them.

The surrounding conversation had gone in a much different direction, the men taking turns showing off their scars to one another. Alan had several impressive ones on his back, from the time he'd nearly been skinned alive in the town square (punishment for stealing a loaf for his sister).

Much the miller's son, scrappy litttle thing that he was, had gotten himself in multiple rows over the years and had more than his share of scars to speak of, John stopping him just short of pulling down his trousers to point out a "bite" he'd sustained once.

"Someone  _bit_  you there?" asked Alan, incredulous.

Much smiled dreamily. "Her name was—"

And though none of them would ever admit it, from the way they each kept stealing glances at the Queen – they'd so rarely entertained such company as hers at their table, after all – John began to suspect that it was mostly for her benefit.

Even Tuck proudly revealed a thin silver scar beneath his collarbone, courtesy of a wayward arrow that had been intended for Robin.

The Queen stiffened ever so slightly at that, but otherwise made no indication she'd heard a word of what Tuck said.

"Ah, yes," said Robin, as though he were fondly remembering a stroll in the park rather than some dastardly attempt on his life. "That was the battle that gave me the scar on my arm." His men nodded in a reverent manner. "And on the inside of my thigh, a permanent reminder of when one of Her Majesty's knights thought they could best me with a sword."

"Oh, please," interrupted the Queen, looking unable to contain herself at last. "That little speck? Clearly a  _birthmark_. It—" She sputtered to a stop at all the dumbfounded expressions that were suddenly swiveling her way, and she seemed to realize with a sinking sort of horror what she'd just said.

She gave a vehement shake of her head. "Not that I – I didn't—"

Robin was biting his lip, trying very hard not to let a full smile show while the Queen turned a brilliant pink shade, looking utterly lost for what to say. The Merry Men, on their part, all sat there in a stunned silence of their own, like they'd just been walloped over the heads with this new bit of information.

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Robin reaching for the Queen's hand beneath the table, squeezing carefully before locking their fingers firmly together.

Much frowned, wondering aloud, "How would she know that though?", but before anyone else could worsen things for them John boomed out a chuckle, slapping a hand over Robin's back.

"More wine!" he declared, lifting their pitcher as glasses were raised all around him with boisterous  _Hear, hear!_ s in answer, and if Robin or the Queen snuck him a grateful look while he poured, well, that was no one else's business but theirs.


End file.
